Victory is Sweet
by madamefaust
Summary: How the story could have ended, far more quickly, if Erik had just had a little forethought...


Disclaimer: This lovely little tale was inspired by a thread in Le Phorum, more specifically, the Salon du Glacier, more specifically, by Cherubino. I own neither the characters, nor the Opera Honey.

No animals were harmed during the writing of this phic. I can't be positive about fops, though.

Raoul held his beloved close to him, under the towering statue of Apollo. Christine was quivering, whether from the slight chill or the release of her terrible tale was anyone's guess. _That monster,_ Raoul thought, his handsome mouth set in a grim line, _to deceive a simple, innocent girl in that cruel manner!_ He placed an impetuous kiss_ on Christine's blonde curls, holding her tighter still. "I'll make him pay!" Raoul declared, into the wind unaware he was even speaking aloud._

Christine was, though and at his terrible pronouncement, her head lifted quickly from her beloved's chest, her bloodshot eyes gazed wildly, imploringly into Raoul's. "No, dear, you mustn't do that!" She clutched his hand in her own as though anchoring him to the roof and away from Erik's wrath. "You wouldn't stand a chance!"

"Is he so much a monster that he would refuse a proper fight? That he would be so cowardly to shoot a man in the back?" Raoul asked, his voice holding a touch of arrogance. The sound of the howling wind became louder.

"He is a man, but no ordinary man!" Christine said, looking still into his eyes as though trying to make him see reason…or lack thereof, as the case may be. "He is something more than a man-"

"Surely something less!" Raoul attempted to rise to his feet, but Christine's nails dug into his palm so hard, he feared the skin may break if he made a move. The wind grew more insistent, this was odd as their cloaks scarcely fluttered, but Raoul was more preoccupied with the hysterical girl to make note of that.

"No! You do not understand, he has forces working for him that one can scarcely imagine, both the natural and supernatural bend to his will!"

"You are making a ghost of him again!"

Christine's hands went suddenly to her face; it was impossible to tell if she were weeping or merely frustrated, possibly a combination of the two. Raoul took the opportunity to stand, he was not certain if he meant to run into the cellars after the masked fiend right then, or merely free himself from Christine's death-hold. Whatever the reason, he was never given the time to figure it out.

Raoul became aware that the low sound he had been hearing throughout the previous exchange of words was not the wind at all, as squinted into the darkness, he became aware of a large, black shape coming toward him from further down the roof. It seemed not to be touching the ground at all. _Christine did say he was more ghost than man, who is to say he's not one of Satan's own? One does not possess the face of a devil without having some sort of association with it._

Raoul drew forth his pistol and fired into the black mass without a second thought. The shadow did not slow down, but came at him more rapidly, the low, throbbing sound increasing in intensity. Raoul fired again, this shot wildly off mark. As the shade drew closer, the sound grew louder. Another shot went off, this one colliding with a piece of masonry. The shape dissolved, but still, the noise did not cease. The shade enveloped Raoul who flailed his arms madly as it forced him closer and closer to the roof's edge. 

Christine watched the scene unfold with utter confusion. It seemed Raoul had gone quite mad, firing his gun at the air, for she could make out no black shape against and equally black sky. If this was his way of attempting to intimidate Erik, it was going to be very counterproductive indeed. She was just about to call out to him to end this foolishness at once when she watched, with dumb horror, as Raoul, with an expression of utmost fear over his striking features, plummeted off the roof entirely. With a soundless shriek, Christine half ran, half crawled to the ledge, immediately turning her head from the street below. It only took the shrieks from the Parisians below to confirm what she knew had to be true. Shaking, Christine made her way back down into the Opera.

A solid black figure watched as she made her way uncertainly inside. _She'll fall off herself if she carries on like that_, the figure thought, _and end up the same as her precious Vicompte. Still, he knew revealing himself would inevitable cause far more harm than good. The buzzing hoard of black made its way back to their master, who was unperturbed by the sound, unlike any other human would have been. Of course, he was not like any other human…_

The man known to a select few as Erik smiled, glad that his little friends had completed their job, and completed it admirably. Erik removed himself, unharmed, from the midst of the little dears and their home atop the Opera. Not _all the money he received from the managers was through extortion and one must always have something to do that would keep one sane and get them fresh air once in a while, no? After Christine disappeared within the upper levels of the Opera, M le Fantome decided to join her, though he used his own way to get inside._

He found her exactly where he expected, collapsed on the divan in her dressing room. The same place he had found her that night when he proclaimed to be her angel. Erik greeted her the same way he'd done so many months ago, "Sweet child, why do you weep?"

Christine lifted her tearstained face to the mirror where Erik concealed himself. "Oh! It was horrible! Erik, R- a, a friend of mine fell! From the roof! We'd been talking one moment and the next..." she fell to her knees before the mirror.

Erik made his voice tender, comforting, "The roof is not a safe place for people who are not careful. I thought your Vicomte was an impatient boy," Christine looked up, eyes wide with fear, but Erik continued as though he had not said anything particularly extraordinary,  "one who does not exercise caution, has no place thirteen stories above the ground, and thirteen is said to be such a terribly unlucky number." The mirror swung on its pivot and Erik extended a gloved hand toward Christine, who took it looking rather amazed. "Now then, dear child, after excitement like that, daresay you should sleep. Your room is waiting for you." Christine followed him obediently through the mirror. As it swung to close behind the pair, Erik's mellifluous voice echoed with a final statement, "I shall make you some tea…with honey." 


End file.
